


(The lack of) Closure

by LightAvii



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, dream's prison arc, ranboo is scary, the manhunts were real (or were they?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightAvii/pseuds/LightAvii
Summary: Oh, if only they knew that the person they should be afraid of was standing among them, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He looked distant, clearly stricken with other thoughts. While Tommy spilled Dream’s blood across the stone, nobody bothered to notice the way Ranboo flipped through the pages of his book, hands shaking, eyes glistening with tears that threatened to burn his skin. Because it was just Ranboo, right? Nobody really cared what he did.And when the light of the portal drowned out his vision and he felt Sam pull him into the heat of hell, he silently cursed himself for being so distracted with the angst of a boy that he forgot to slit the throat of a monster.-Or:Someone pays Dream a visit in prison.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 136





	(The lack of) Closure

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short little ditty I wrote about today's crazy events on the SMP! I really like the idea of Ranboo being far more dangerous than he lets on.
> 
> Karma's a bitch.

This prison was built for Ranboo.

They celebrated while he was carried off—he heard their cheers over the roar of the portal in his ears. It made him bitter.

Oh, if only they knew that the person they should be afraid of was standing among them, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He looked distant, clearly stricken with other thoughts. While Tommy spilled Dream’s blood across the stone, nobody bothered to notice the way Ranboo flipped through the pages of his book, hands shaking, eyes glistening with tears that threatened to burn his skin. Because it was just Ranboo, right? Nobody really cared what he did. 

And when the light of the portal drowned out his vision and he felt Sam pull him into the heat of hell, he silently cursed himself for being so distracted with the angst of a boy that he forgot to slit the throat of a monster.

He had a lot of time to think, inside of his cell; tucked away from the world, nothing to look at but the smooth stone of obsidian, body heavy and muscles weak at the mercy of mining fatigue. A lot of time to ponder what went right—savor the moments of victory, the fear in Tubbo’s eyes, the frustration and helplessness that ran down the tears on Tommy’s face—and a lot of time evaluate everything that went wrong. Punz stepping through the portal. The way Tommy and Tubbo fled behind the protection of the crowd before he could catch them. Ranboo’s eyes, curious and distracted. The way Sapnap’s sword swung out, narrowly stopping Dream from tearing into them. The way they backed him into the hallway. Ranboo looked confused, almost, like he didn’t belong. Tommy pulling the axe down from the wall, and digging the hole at his feet. Ranboo flipping through the pages of his book. The shame burning in his chest as he removed his armor, throwing it down, in a bitter display of irony. Ranboo wanted to leave. Ranboo. Ranboo was there. Damnit, Ranboo was there.

Dream might have lied about a couple of things. The community house, for one—of course it was his doing. Nobody should have suspected otherwise. He had hidden the disc near Ranboo's home, too; did it intentionally to throw Ranboo down the wrong path. And it had worked, for the most part—he got the disc back without any hassle, and left confusion in his wake.

And when he saw Ranboo, tearing Tommy’s house apart, scattering netherrack into grass and letting the world burn underneath his feet, he tried to ignore the blank stare in his eyes.

His memory was an issue, obviously. It was beneficial, sometimes—Ranboo would never remember what he did, and he certainly wouldn’t think anything of Dream planting a message to Tommy and Tubbo in the wake of the destruction, setting the final phase of a petty war in motion. Dream could pull his strings freely, without consequence.

But Ranboo was more powerful than they knew, and Dream spent his time acutely aware that if he pulled the strings too taut, they would snap.

And now, the big bad villain was locked away, under layers of molten rock, any hope of escaping diminishing with each second, foiled by a creation of his own desire. But something far worse roamed the surface, free to do as it pleased, and Dream pitied the fool caught at the wrong end of an enderman’s stare.

“Dream,” Sam’s voice startled him, the sound of footsteps approaching through the hallway as someone turned the corner into view. “You have a visitor.”

Hm.

The visit went well. Probably. Dream couldn’t tell you much about it, if he tried—he couldn’t remember who came.

When he fell asleep, he dreamt of revenge.

* * *

He was awoken by the sound of metal against metal, and sat up to see the bars to his cell wide open, teasing him, urging him to walk right out. It seemed too stupid—too obvious. This was a high security prison, after all. Sam had explained everything, and there was no way Dream would be allowed to move without intense supervision.

He got up anyway.

When he stepped through the gateway, he expected death—an arrow to fly down the hallway and lodge itself in his head, a sword to find its place in his abdomen, perhaps even lava to open up underneath him, consuming him in flames.

But it never came.

He continued, the only sound being that of his shoes against stone. The sound of his own breathing echoed in the high, empty hallways of the prison, and with each step closer to freedom, he felt an equal step closer to death.

Surely, anytime now, he would hear Sam’s shouts, feel the warmth of blood against skin, the surge of adrenaline as his body went into some kind of shock.

But nobody came.

And that’s when he saw it—the wall, torn apart from the outside, gaping and wide, rays of sunlight filtering in from the world beyond. 

It was freedom.

And in that moment, he wanted to be free more than anything.

He took off running—he didn’t stop to think about it. Behind him, he heard the noteblock chimes of alarm, the first sign of life, and didn’t waste time turning around as the light of the portal filled his vision. He tore through hell, the soft rock crunching underneath his feet, his heart pumping with the feeling of strength gradually returning to his limbs as the cursed fatigue faded from his bones. He practically leapt through the exit portal, tumbling out the other side, bracing himself for the impact of blackstone and instead feeling the soft brush of grass against skin.

Strange—he didn’t remember this place being a forest.

_ Home. Go home. _

_ What home? _

He turned to the direction of the community house, the same house he had destroyed. A makeshift boat carried him through the water, the afternoon sun beating down his back, burning him. He didn’t care.

They’d kill him, when got there. That was fine.

So when the wood hit the shore and Dream climbed onto the sands of a familiar beach, he waited to die.

But nobody came.

It was weird, he thought to himself, moving closer and closer to the center of the world, through lands that had once been marred by creeper holes and cobblestone and construction and destruction and the sands of time, now untouched.

The lake was empty.

The body of water they had built the community house over—where everything had begun—sat dormant in the sun, unburdened by the human hand. There was no evidence of life here—where he once saw towers and wooden paths, he only saw trees. 

Where did everybody go?

As if the universe heard his question, he whirled around at the sound of a twig snapping behind him, surprised to see the four familiar figures that emerged from the bushes. George, Sapnap, Bad, and Antfrost—prison guards, he thought absently, though it was strange that they had only the most basic of equipment.

“There he is!” George shouted, and five bodies lurched into motion. Shouts filled the air as Dream turned, digging his weight into the ground, running as fast as his body could carry him.

Wood. He needed to get wood.

He was the prey, now. The hunted. The mouse in the paws of a cat; the fool in the lion’s den. Every odd was against him, and yet his body screamed to  run, run, do what you know, don’t stop running, survive.

He was hiding in the walls of a cave, hands bloodied by the makeshift handle of his pickaxe, when he realized.

He needed to go to the End.

It was forbidden, on his SMP—he had banned the dimension since the very start, and nobody dared go there. If he could just find a way in, if he could defeat the dragon and open the portal back home, he could be free—free of them, free of this. 

And his friends were the only thing standing in his way.

* * *

He did it. He made it—the dragon burst into a ball of light over his head, debris flying into the void. The roaring filled his ears, and yet he laughed—he had won.

The corpses of his hunters lay on the endstone around him, blood dripping from broken bodies. He didn’t care—he was free. He was in control, now.

And as he took the step into the unknown, through the portal at the end of the story, he hoped things could go back to the way they used to be.

He closed his eyes.

The world was dark.

The world was cold.

He was awoken by the sound of metal against metal, and sat up to see the bars to his cell wide open, teasing him, urging him to walk right out.

He raised an eyebrow at the sight—something felt strange, besides the lack of supervision. He pushed the sensation down, rising to his feet to leave, but fuzzy memories threatened to surface behind his eyes.

He fled the prison, taking the nether route back to the mainland.

He found himself in a forest, and went the only direction he could think of—home. 

He knew they would kill him when he got there, but nobody came.

The world was untouched.

Four hunters emerged from the bushes behind him, the faces of his friends. The faces of the prison guards that wanted him dead.

He had to flee. He had to get to the End.

He didn’t make it.

He sat up in a cold sweat, breathing in stale air, his body feeling all too whole for having just been pierced by an arrow between the ribs, leaving blood to fill his lungs and drown him from the inside.

He looked over to see the bars of his cell; wide open, teasing him, urging him to walk right out.

He had done this before.

* * *

He understood, now, the cycle he was trapped in. The desire to be free tore him to shreds, forced him to flee from familiar faces time and time again.

It ended differently every time. Sometimes he made it the portal—others, he grasped onto air as a misstep left him plummeting into the oceans of lava below. He had felt his body disintegrate under the magic of a dragon’s breath, had his heart fail as a sword opened his veins and spilled his life into the dirt. He’d screamed in agony at the way his flesh decayed at Antfrost’s hands, and had his victory cut short by an explosion landing a blow to the back of his head. He had died, over and over again, and every time he had awoken in his cell, the bars wide open, calling him for another round.

Once, he tried to just stay inside.

He starved to death.

He was trapped, relegated to fleeing endlessly, in pursuit of a life that was no longer his. And as he ran, he couldn’t help but notice that something didn’t belong.

It never lasted long—a blur of black and white in the corner of his eye, the red and green glow of something mysterious around the corner of a cave. He never had time to think about it—time spent thinking was time spent dying.

And when he came careening through the end portal, crashing into Ranboo, he wished he had died instead.

_ — and y’know what? _

Ranboo was dangerous. Ranboo was capable of doing things nobody had ever seen. Ranboo was free to do as he pleased, because he wouldn’t remember it afterwards.

_ I’m still gonna visit Dream. _

Ranboo was a liar.

_ But this time, I’m not looking for closure. _

When Dream risked meeting his eyes, open and blank, he expected consequence, but was met with nothing—an empty stare, hollow, yet simultaneously all-too laser focused on him.

“Having fun?”

An innocent question.

“Why?” Dream barely managed to choke out the word.

“You deserve this,” Ranboo’s tail flicked, from side to side, his hands folded behind his back. The dragon roared overhead. “For everything you’ve done to them.”

“But  _why_ — why did you do this? Why did you trap me in this illusion? What are you trying to accomplish? You won’t even remember it!”

“That’s a shame,” Ranboo said, and Dream didn’t notice the sound of footsteps approaching him from behind. “I wish I could say the same for you.”

He gasped at the feeling of a blade slicing through cloth and flesh, ripping at his back and making contact with bone. He collapsed onto the obsidian floor, and distantly heard a shout of joy from Sapnap as his consciousness faded away.

He was awoken by the sound of metal against metal, and sat up to see the bars to his cell wide open, teasing him, urging him to walk right out.

This prison was built for Ranboo.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, consider following me on twitter @lightavii! I post artwork and writing on there, feel free to stick around :)


End file.
